It's wicked to mock the afflicted

“Jimmy. What the fuck are you doing with that fuck off big knife?”

“It’s not a knife. It’s a machete. I’m going to teach someone a lesson.”

“Don’t be a cunt, Jimmy. Who are you talking about?”

“That cunt of a tree in hunter’s park by the toilets. You know over where I have my bed roll.”

“A tree? You bastard. I thought you were off to go murder. You dumb bastard. What’s wrong with you, son. What do you want to go and hack up some tree for? Calling a tree a person. Jesus. Sit down and calm yourself. Have a sip of this and tell me what’s got up your arse.”

“You ken what tree I’m saying.”

“Aye.”

“Last night. I was going back to my camp behind the benches over in the brush by the lavvies.”

“Aye.”

“I’m ready for my forty winks like. I was up at the Port O’ Leith with the boys. Colin had a bit of luck. The lucky bastard had a twenty to one come in. He was buying drinks like he printed the money himself. Well, you can ken the state Colin’s kindness put me in. After they chuck us out I make my way to the park to sleep it off. Well, I never made it. That fucking bastard tree took a swing at me and I spent the night ass over tits on the ground. My face was covered in blood; I had a knot the size of a football on my head. I thought I had been murdered. I stagger up. Not knowing the fuck happened to me. The damn pigs just happen to be passing and the nick me because they don’t know what else to do. I just got out and now I got me a score to settle.”

“Jimmy. Bloody hell. You’re a mess. Tell you what come up and have a drink with me. After you get a drink in you, if you still want to kill your tree. You can have at it. Okay.”

“A-right.”